Painter leaned back against his desk. He had a full dossier on the president’s daughter, but almost nothing regarding the baby she carried. He wanted every base covered. Something was odd about this entire affair-from the false papers to the trip to the Seychelles, and now this kidnapping.
He dared leave no stone unturned.
“First of all, her unborn child is not her husband’s,” Kat began.
Painter’s brows rose in surprise. This was news to him.
Kat explained, “Apparently Mack Bennett had fertility issues that required the use of a sperm donor and in vitro fertilization.”
“Interesting.” Painter folded this new knowledge into the case, testing various permutations, different possibilities.
“Where was this done?” he finally asked.
“A fertility clinic in South Carolina, outside of Charleston. I looked it up. Very cutting-edge. Using the latest technology. With a client list from around the world.”
“And the donor for the child?”
Kat shook her head. “Confidential.”
Painter hated loose ends-they had the tendency to unravel into a mess.
Kat read his expression. “I can make some calls, but without a court order-”
Painter shook his head. “A legal action would raise too many red flags, get others inquiring about Amanda’s whereabouts. We can’t risk that exposure.”
“Not to mention it would be a significant invasion of her privacy,” Lisa reminded him.
“And in the end, the child might have nothing to do with this,” Kat added.
Painter crossed his arms, unconvinced. “Amanda fled to the Seychelles just a couple of weeks before she was due to deliver. Traveling under false papers, like she was running from someone-or protecting someone.”
“You’re thinking it’s about the baby,” Kat said. “But why?”
“I don’t know. But some answers might be found at that clinic.”
“I could send a team to investigate.”
“Or I can go,” Lisa offered. “I’m an M.D. Simple professional courtesy could open doors easier than a commando raid.”
Painter’s lips hardened. Lisa had helped Sigma multiple times in the past. Her medical expertise, especially in regards to Amanda’s pregnancy, could prove useful-and likely why Kat had involved her today. And Painter had to admit that Lisa’s suggestion made sense, risked less exposure, but he hated to put her in danger.
“I can accompany her,” Kat offered. “Possibly posing as a potential new client.”
“But you’ve got a newborn and a toddler at home.”
“And I’ve also got a husband with too much time on his hands,” she argued. “Monk can keep an eye on Harriet and Penelope for a couple of days.”
Monk Kokkalis, her spouse, was a former Sigma operative who had opted to retire so he could spend more time with his wife and family. He’d also had one too many close calls during prior missions and called it quits.
“I don’t think your husband would want you out in the field,” Painter warned.
“It’s not like I’m traveling halfway around the world. It’s barely a day trip.”
Kat’s face betrayed her. Her eyes danced at the thought of getting her hands dirty again. After two back-to- back pregnancies, she clearly needed some fresh air, to stretch her legs with a little fieldwork. As proficient as she was in her role at Sigma headquarters, she was still a soldier at heart. She had not graduated from the U.S. Naval Academy and gained the rank of captain in order to be stuck in an office all day.
He sometimes forgot that about her.
He nodded. “I can get you a flight out first thing in the morning.”
She smiled, glancing over at Lisa, who wore a similar grin.
Painter realized the truth at that moment. The two women had played him from the outset, intending this result all along. Rather than calling them on it, he simply resigned himself to the inevitable.
“We should return to my office,” Kat said to Lisa. “Get everything in order before our morning flight.”
Lisa stood, gave him a quick peck on the cheek, and headed after Kat-but not before hanging back in the doorway with a smile that held infinite promise. “I’ll see you tonight.”
Painter watched them head down the hall. It was not an unpleasant sight. As they disappeared around a corner, the worries settled back over his shoulders.
He reached to a file on his desk and slipped out the top photo inside. It was the last picture taken of Amanda, smiling next to her husband, one hand supporting her belly, protective, proud.
Painter stared harder at the picture, noticing for the first time the edge of fear in her eyes, the way she leaned close to her husband, almost sheltering herself. Even the arm clutched around her partner’s waist clung a bit too tightly.
11:59 P.M. East Africa Time
Cal Madow mountains, Somalia
The needle sank into Amanda’s belly, delivering a burning sting of anesthetic. Her fingers dug into the thin sheets of the hospital bed. She watched it all, refusing to look away.
Her hospital gown had been pulled up over her stomach, exposing her swollen belly and protruding navel. A privacy sheet covered her from the waist down-not that they’d spared her from any indignities up to now.
“That should numb her well enough, Dr. Blake,” the tall blond woman said, disposing of the used syringe in a red sharps container. She had a slight German accent, maybe Swiss.
“Thank you, Petra.”
The British doctor patted Amanda’s arm. Like his nurse, he wore scrubs-but rather than the typical blue, his were old-fashioned, solid white. “We’ll be done in a few minutes, and you can get some rest for the night. I know it’s been a long day.”
The pair left to finish final preparations for the procedure.
Amanda had no choice but to wait in the bed. She kneaded her belly, reassuring herself and the child inside. She noted the leather restraints hanging from the rails. It frightened her that they hadn’t bothered to tie her down. It demonstrated their unflagging confidence in the security surrounding the cabin.
She stared at the ultrasound’s monitor, dark at the moment but waiting to be used in the procedure to come. They’d already performed a scan of her abdomen when she arrived here, recording her baby’s position, measuring the dimensions of his skull and approximate body length. She hadn’t resisted that first ultrasound. At the time, she had wanted to know the status of her child as fiercely as the doctor had.
In the end, it had brought her great relief to see the flutter of his heartbeat, his tiny curled fists, his small, sleepy movements. After a close examination of the sonogram, the doctor pronounced her boy wonderfully healthy.
But it seemed the medical team was not done with her.
Dr. Blake returned. Petra carried a tray holding a large syringe equipped with a five-inch-long needle. Amanda had already had an amniocentesis when she was eighteen weeks along, so she knew what to expect.
Petra swabbed her stomach with fresh antiseptic, then powered up the ultrasound and handed the lubed probe to Dr. Blake. With an eye on the monitor, the doctor guided the needle deep into her belly. The pain was minimal, like a mild menstrual cramp.
She looked away from the monitor as the tip of the needle approached her sleeping child. It was too disconcerting to watch. One slip and she could only imagine the damage that might be done.
In the end, all went well.
Fluid was drawn skillfully from the amniotic sac around her boy, and the needle withdrawn. She finally let out the breath she had been holding. Tears suddenly blurred her vision.
“Monitor her for fever,” the doctor ordered Petra. “Watch for any vaginal bleeding.”
Petra nodded.
Dr. Blake turned to Amanda. “There’s no need for tears. At least not now. We won’t have the genetic test results until the morning.”
Her first amniocentesis had been routine, done to rule out various chromosomal abnormalities like Down
